Ollie found a torch and a small can of kerosene—just enough to light Tera’s drawing table. He cleared the surface of everything except her charcoal pencils, a few sheets from her sketch pad, and her map of the Neath. Then he got to work.
Meatball supervised the effort for a few minutes, then fell into a deep sleep punctuated by a symphony of grunts and wheezes. By the time the trog woke the next morning, Ollie was surrounded by scribbled notes and blueprints. His hair was sticking out sideways in the spot where he had been clutching it. His hands and face were streaked with pencil smears. He had worked through the night. He felt good. He felt ready. He lifted Meatball onto his shoulder and headed out.
When he got to the Tea Party, Ollie did his best to ignore the wonderful, rhizery smells wafting from the various floating stalls. He stepped over the skittering trogs and splats of fallen wormwalkers and muscled his way through the crowded docks until he found the sign he was looking for: “Nikki & Floyd’s: Brickside Curiosities.” Tossing the tent flap open, he stepped inside.
The couple was standing behind the counter, talking. Floyd was instantly recognizable in his rumpled brown garb. Nikki, likewise, was wearing her usual fur shawl, though that day’s color was more chestnut than white. For the first time, Ollie wondered: Where did the fur come from? As the obvious answer dawned, he reached up to touch Meatball’s thick coat and shuddered.
The pair’s murmured conversation came to a sudden halt when they noticed him.
“Do you remember me?” Ollie asked.
They looked at each other. Then Floyd said, “Sure, kid. Of course, we do.”
“They took Tera.”
Two nodding heads. Two sad looks. “Yeah, we heard,” Floyd said. “Damn shame, that.”
“I need your help.”
Nikki raised an eyebrow. “With what? Child, you’re not thinking of going over there, are you? That’s a fool’s errand, nothing more.”
“I need to find someone, and I think you know where he is.”
“Oh, yeah?” Now Floyd looked amused. “Who?”
“Laszlo Kravchenko,” Ollie said.
Nikki and Floyd stopped moving, stopped fidgeting. Ollie could see them actively trying not to look at each other. Trying not to react in any way.
“Never heard of him,” said Floyd.
“Bullshit,” Ollie replied.
The couple shared a sideways glance. Finally, Floyd leaned a hand on the counter. “I suppose we could ask around,” he said, the words falling lazily. “Maybe. Depends on—”
“Let me guess,” Ollie interrupted. “It depends on what’s in it for you?”
Floyd shrugged, unapologetic.
Ollie reached into the pocket of his off-white jumpsuit. When he lifted his hand, a keychain dangled from his fingers. He pushed the small button on the side, and the flashing started: Oliver. Oliver. Oliver. The blinking word lit up the dark tent like streaks of lightning.
Their eyes widened.
“Whoa,” breathed Nikki.
“How long will it do that?” Floyd asked. His expression was greedy.
“Forever,” Ollie lied, not feeling the need to explain the particulars of lithium coin-cell battery life with the miscreant who had already stolen his wallet. “How do you know Laszlo?”
Nikki looked at her husband, then heaved her furred chest with a sigh. “Laszlo is a Runner,” she said. “Like a go-between. He lives on the Brickside, but he comes down here sometimes. For the WRC. He ferries people, and stuff, whatever. Sometimes he brings us…items. For the shop.”
“Can you contact him?” Ollie asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
He dangled the keychain. “Yes or no?”
“Yes, probably,” Nikki admitted. “If we need to.”
“Good. Then do it. Today. Get him down here. I need to talk to him.”
They paused, then nodded. Nikki reached for the keychain.
“Uh, uh, uh,” Ollie said, snatching it back into his palm. “First, Laszlo.”
Floyd folded his arms.
“And I need a little money,” Ollie added. “For food.”
After a long, hard stare, Floyd reached into some hidden crevice. He pulled out a small wad of colored bills and passed them across the counter.
Ollie took the cash without comment. Then he looked at Nikki. “You shouldn’t wear fur,” he said. “It’s cruel.” The money went into his pocket, and his mind went to his next stop.
* * *
A group of crows is called a murder.
Ollie had learned that odd fact sometime back in middle school, but it hadn’t made any sense to him until now. As he approached the barn, a dozen giant, feathered heads emerged from the stalls, accosting him with a sudden, thunderous chorus of caws. Murderous caws, you might call them. Or at the very least, not the friendliest of welcomes. Even Meatball felt the hostility; he jumped at the sudden outburst and pressed himself against Ollie’s neck.
The hammered-together, mostly tin structure didn’t look much like a Brickside barn—it wasn’t red or charming—but it did smell the same. No, he corrected himself: It smelled worse. He detected notes of dank earth, expired food, and decomposing bird poop, all mushed together and hovering like a toxic cloud.
Ollie paused and held an arm over his nose. How would he find her? Every one of these damn crows looked exactly the same: enormous, black, and beady-eyed.
In the end, he felt her more than saw her. She was watching him, neck tilted, feathers ruffled. She gave her head a shake.
“Hello, Mrs. Paget,” Ollie said, approaching the stall warily. He peered over the edge; her food bucket was empty. He held up his hands in an “I come in peace” gesture, then reached over the door to grab the bucket’s handle. Carrying it to the nearby alcove, Ollie copied Tera’s motions from just a few days before: He held his breath, dipped a large scoop into a container full of seeds and writhing creatures, and filled the bucket.
He carried the nauseating stew of animate and inanimate foodstuffs back to Mrs. Paget’s stall, past a complaining, jealous line of cawing birds. Ollie dropped the bucket in front of her, then jumped back as she attacked it ravenously. Lizard-like legs and the unmistakable glow of wormwalker segments flew in all directions. He might have seen one or two loose eyeballs before he shut his own eyes. When he opened them again, she was picking the last scattered bits off the ground.
Ollie took a step closer.
“All good?” he asked.
Mrs. Paget turned her attention back to him and blinked. Insofar as a crow can look mistrustful, she did.
“I’ve got some news,” Ollie told her. “Bad news.”
The giant bird moved closer. Her head poked out of the stall door, towering above his. She seemed to be listening intently.
“It’s Tera. She needs help.”
The crow’s feathers gave an almost imperceptible shake, as though a breeze had passed through her stall.
“I was hoping we could come to some kind of understanding, you and I,” he added.
Mrs. Paget went still. Then, as he watched, two huge, onyx wings rose behind her body. Her throat emitted a plaintive wail: Caw! Caw! Caw!
Ollie met the bird’s eyes. “I know,” he whispered. “Me, too.”
* * *
At his next stop, Derrin was the first to spot him. She was digging some kind of trench beside the house, huffing and puffing and attacking the ground with a ferocity that belied her thin, fragile frame. When she saw Ollie approaching, her mouth popped open into a pink circle.
“What are you doing here?” she asked. Her voice, as always, sounded old and grainy. Her skin was so thin he could very nearly see the sinewy jaw muscles clenching underneath. Two trogs sat on her shoulders, one black, one white. Her stringy blonde hair wrapped around them like a blanket. Both appeared to be fast asleep, despite her strenuous efforts.
“Hi,” Ollie said, approaching with cautious steps.
“You’re supposed to be gone,” Derrin said.
“Yeah, well, that didn’t really work out.”
Derrin shot a glance at the house. Her voice dropped. “You’d better leave. They won’t be happy to see you.”
“I know. But I have to talk to them.” He gestured toward the door. “You mind if I…?”
She leaned on the shovel and shrugged. “Your funeral.”
Ollie took two steps, then stopped when he heard her say, “Wait.”
Derrin sighed theatrically, tossed the shovel onto the ground, and caught up to him. “It’ll go better if I do it.”
“Thanks.”
“Wait there.” Pulling aside the curtain, she disappeared inside. Ollie could hear raised voices through the walls. When she finally emerged, she waved him in. “Come on, then. Better be quick about it.”
He nodded and stepped across the threshold, where he found, as expected, three glaring women. Two of them had their arms crossed.
“You have five minutes,” Ajanta said.
“Two!” countered Kuyu. She tossed her head back in indignation, sending her curls bouncing. “What the hell do you want?”
“I know you don’t want to see me,” he began, shrinking as best he could. “It’s my fault, what happened to her. And I want to make it right.”
Kuyu snorted.
“Look, I get it,” Ollie said. “But it doesn’t matter how this happened. What matters is—”
“Oh, that’s rich, coming from the guy who made it happen,” Kuyu said.
“Guys!” Derrin said. “Just let him talk.”
Ollie shot her an appreciative look. He took a deep breath. “Please. We have to do something.”
“What makes you think we’re not?” Ajanta retorted, a defensive note in her voice.
“No, I mean…something big.”
“We’re working on a payoff,” Derrin told him. The other two flashed her dirty looks, but she continued. “A bribe. We might be able to—”
Now it was Ollie’s turn to interrupt. “No,” he said again. “Something bigger. Even if you do get her out, they’ll just come for you next. Where does it end? Besides, Tera’s not the only innocent person in there.”
“Not our problem,” Kuyu said. “Look, kid, unlike Tera, we’re not going to get all moony-eyed over you just because you walk in here with some cockamamie plan. I don’t know why she did all this for you, but w—”
“That’s the thing,” Ollie interrupted. “She didn’t.”
“Oh, she did get all moony-eyed,” Derrin said.
“No, I mean she didn’t do this for me. Not at first. She did it…” He paused. “She did it because George Herrick asked her to.”
The room went silent. On Ollie’s shoulder, Meatball spun in a circle and resettled.
Finally, Ajanta spoke. “What are you talking about?”
“She said he sent her one of those notes,” Ollie said with a sigh. “One of those stupid riddles that he wrote in his sleep, or whatever. He told her to rescue me, and he told her how to do it. But that’s not even the weird part. The weird part is, he sent it to her the day before I got down here. George Herrick knew I was coming before I did. He knew I was going to screw it all up and get myself thrown into that prison. And if he knew all that was going to happen, he must have known this was going to happen too, right?”
“Why you?” Kuyu asked, looking dubious.
“I…I don’t know.”
They stared at him. Ajanta’s face wore a troubled expression. “Look, Ollie, we appreciate your concern,” she said. “But what you’re asking is too dangerous. We can’t risk it.”
Ollie reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of drawing paper. “Just look, please! I have a plan.”
“I’m sure you do,” she replied, with just a hint of condescension. “But I have a responsibility to these girls. And to myself. Tera made her choices, and now we have to make ours.”
“This isn’t just about Tera!” Ollie said, his voice cracking. “I mean, yes, it’s about Tera. But it’s about the others, too! My friend Dozer didn’t do what they accused him of. Even the Reader saw it, and still, it doesn’t matter. He’s still trapped. The whole place is wrong. It’s run by a goddamn lunatic! I’ve seen it! I know you know it!”
“So what is the answer, smart guy?” Kuyu asked. “Hugs and handshakes? You want us to close the whole place down and set all the psychos free? Maybe round up our abusers and serve them water-lily pie?”
Ollie gave her a weary look. He had never felt so tired. So afraid. “That’s not what I’m saying,” he told her. “I know you don’t trust me. If I were you, I wouldn’t trust me, either. But can you trust George Herrick?”
At that, three pairs of eyebrows raised.
“Herrick told me, ‘All will be mended.’ He even told me how.”
“Told you how?” Kuyu asked. “Like, specifically?”
Ollie stuffed the paper back into his jumpsuit pocket, stalling. “Sort of, yeah.”
“Sort of? What does that mean?”
“He gave me some…instructions.”
Ajanta stepped closer, her expression betraying a mix of anticipation and fear. “What kind of instructions?”
“He said, ‘Tell Widow Hibbins zero. Lion’s feet will dig. As I am, so he will be.’”
All three of them stared at him, their faces blank. Kuyu and Derrin were leaning against each other, as always, like bookends with no books.
“What the hell does that mean?” Kuyu finally asked.
“I…don’t exactly know,” Ollie admitted.
“Oh, Ollie,” Ajanta sighed. “Please, just go home. Take your pass and go back to the Brickside. This is not your fight.”
“No. I won’t leave her,” he answered, spreading his feet apart. “I won’t. I’m going to get her out. I have a plan. Please, will you help me?”
The women glanced at each other. Then Ajanta said, “You’re a strange kid, you know that?”
Ollie noticed the softening of her tone and took it as a good sign. “What have you found out?” he asked. “Do you know where she is?”
Derrin looked at Ajanta. Kuyu shifted her weight. No one answered.
“Oh, c’mon,” Ollie prodded. “I know you’ve been asking. So where have they taken her? What floor?”
Ajanta hesitated, then sighed. “As far as we can tell, they took her to the fighting pit.”
Ollie blinked. “The what?”
“You know, for the Knockdowns. The fights.”
His stomach dropped. “They’re making her fight?”
“No! Jesus. They have prisoners in there, usually women, to take care of the fighters. Cleaning wounds, and cooking, and…other stuff.”
At her last words, the room fell silent.
Ollie cleared his throat. “You’re sure?”
“As sure as I can be, yes.”
“All right,” he said, trying to ignore the twitch that had started in his left eye. “All right. I can work with that.” Ollie’s mind raced. Then he looked up. “Tera told me you guys work in food service at Herrick’s, right?”
“Yeah, us two,” Kuyu nodded at Derrin. “So?”
“What does that involve, exactly?” he asked.
“We deliver food, bring it to the kitchens, that’s it.”
“Who’s the food for?” Ollie asked. “The prisoners?”
“No, it’s the good stuff. For the guards.”
“Uh huh. Uh huh.” Ollie thought about this and about the charcoal-penciled notes in his pocket.
“And Ajanta, you drive the crow boats?”
“Yes. Going on five years, now.”
“You know Mrs. Paget? And she knows you?”
“Of course.”
“That’s good.” He pressed his hands together. “That’s very good. We can use all that.” Then he asked, “What about the witches? What do you guys know about them?”
“The…witches?” At this question, Ajanta looked genuinely dumbfounded.
“Yeah,” he nodded. “The ones that founded the Neath, with George Herrick. Tera told me they used to be here, but now they’re not. Do you know where they are?”
“Krite, Ollie, they’re long gone,” Kuyu said.
“Yes, but where?”
“How the hell are we supposed to know? And what does it even matter?”
But it did matter, somehow. It was all connected. Ollie knew it. He felt it, like the light touch of a mosquito on his skin.
He had one last question, this one for Kuyu. “I’ll bet you know a lot of people around here,” he said to her.
“A few,” Kuyu acknowledged.
“Do you know anyone who could smuggle something inside the prison?”
“I thought we wanted to smuggle someone out.”
“We do, yes,” he nodded. “But first, I have to get something in. A message.”
Kuyu sucked in her cheeks. “Yeah, I know someone. But it won’t be easy.”
Ajanta was watching their exchange warily. “Kuyu,” she said, a note of warning in her voice.
“What?” The girl gave an exaggerated, innocent stare.
“I hope you’re not talking about who I think you’re talking about.”
“Why not?” Kuyu challenged. Then she looked up at Ollie. “I can take you to her right now.”
“No, you absolutely will not,” Ajanta said.
“You’re not going anywhere near that rat hole,” Derrin echoed.
Kuyu rested her hands on her hips. “Why not?”
“Because I said so, young lady,” Ajanta said, mirroring the girl’s defiant gesture. “And you know perfectly well that you’ll never get past the bouncers.”
“But I could,” Derrin said, taking a step forward.
Ollie looked from one to the other. He didn’t know who, or what, they were talking about, and he didn’t care. He could tell from their postures: The tide had turned.
A slow, satisfied smile began to curl at his lips.
Ollie, Ollie, oxen free, he thought, catching sight of himself in the dusty wall mirror. Come out, come out, wherever you are. It was a face he barely recognized. Narrowed eyes. Sunken cheeks. Determined expression. A face that knew everything was about to change. And that the people who took her were about to wish they hadn’t.